


Slow Erosion

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [43]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: Prowl's resistance didn't make sense to them at all.





	Slow Erosion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shibara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shibara/gifts).



> A requested gift for Shibara - OT6 with the trimmings.

It didn't register for them when he resisted.

Oh, they were disturbed that he fought. It confused them to feel his rage directed at them. They were his hands and feet and body to command. How could he fight them? But Prowl snarled, threw furniture, and slipped away at every opportunity.

Long Haul chased him, when he did. Bonecrusher would slam him to the ground. Hook tried to talk him down while they pinned him in place. Mixmaster offered chemical relief; just something to relax him. Prowl reacted violently to each overture, and then they got angry. They were _confused_.

He was, after all, part of them. The best part now. He was brilliant and beautiful and _theirs_.

Scavenger brought things.

He left his offerings on the altar of Prowl's desk and slunk away like the most unworthy of supplicants. He crawled on the floor at Prowl's pedes. He whispered little prayers into the air of Prowl’s existence. It left Prowl tolerating the mess Scavenger created and the uncomfortable creep into his personal space.

That sneaking violation of his self was so much harder to fight. It wasn’t reasonable to punch a mech on the ground. A head on his knee wasn’t a hand pawing between his thighs to be beaten away. A gift freely offered wasn't bribe for his good will to be tossed at a head.

The rest of them used the leverage Scavenger slowly created to put their hands on Prowl. They came at him sideways, and it got so much harder to fight when they didn't hear his softer protests. When no one else even cared to see what they did.

Hook liked to tease at Prowl's seams. He liked to find the currents of life beneath the thin layers of Prowl's light piping or the more vital flow hidden behind his armor. Friction teased and charged the flow to move faster. Hook liked to hear Prowl's vents stutter. He liked to feel the evidence of pleasure, even as the anger built and pushed at them all.

Mixmaster took to feeding Prowl. He enjoyed forcing his fat fingers between lips and teeth, and he loved to stroke the slippery, malleable shape of Prowl's tongue. He laughed, watching Prowl gag trying to swallow his latest concoctions, dripping from his fingertips. Mixmaster liked to lick the dribbling rivulets, spilled in his struggles, from Prowl's body.

It took longer for Bonecrusher and Long Haul to wear him down, to have him turn his head and spread his legs instead of clawing at their vitals. They didn't understand why he wasn't more enthusiastic about taking them in at both mouth and valve. It only embarrassed them after the act was finished to see him bleeding.

It didn't bother them that his protests had grown weak. It bothered them less when they had faded away altogether. If anything, they rejoiced when he only looked away. When he let them push his body around, care for it as they pleased, use it as they wanted. They didn't know what to make of the dimming light behind his optics. They didn't understand why he never reached for them.

They were just grateful he stopped reaching beyond them; it was hard to put him back together each time outsiders' rejections broke him apart.


End file.
